


Suburbia Squad

by bluebeholder



Series: Rehabilitation Via Dryer Settings [1]
Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Fluff, F/M, My Precious Trash Heap Children, Past Abuse, Team Bonding, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 00:37:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8349361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: After the events of Midway City, the members of the Suicide Squad are put on probation. Until they're needed again, they're put on house arrest in a surreal version of suburban America. Suddenly, they're living a life that should only be a setting on a dryer.Floyd discovers that he kind of likes it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I finally saw Suicide Squad! They are my trash heap children and I will protect them. I’m ignoring canon here, obviously. The Joker breaking Harley out didn’t happen and Diablo isn’t dead. *shakes fist fiercely*
> 
> Mention of past Joker/Harley, particularly in its abusive aspects.

After the events in Midway City, the group of criminals-turned-heroes commonly known as the “Suicide Squad” are set free.

Well, not entirely free. 

It’s easy to forget that they’ve still got nanite bombs in their necks that could blow their heads off if Rick ever decided that they were messing around too much. But Floyd—better known to the world as Deadshot—thinks that their handler is just a bit too distracted to get around to pushing that little red button on his phone. And besides, since Midway, they’re all getting along just a bit too well to do anything that would get them into serious trouble. 

Waller had to cave to some of their demands. The whole squad refused to go back to Belle Reve, preferring actual death to that hell, but everyone agreed that not one of them could be trusted out in the civilian world. So house arrest it was.

Floyd’s fairly sure by now that this little slice of suburbia is actually a sinister cover for something else, and that all of their neighbors are actually deep-cover agents watching them to make sure that they don’t kill anyone. He’s not called Deadshot for nothing. Half of good shooting is being able to see, and he can sure see the things that don’t add up around here. For now, though, he’s content to ignore it all, because this life isn’t half bad.

Sure, Harley can be a little crazy around normal people. But around the rest of the squad, the crazy manifests itself in jokes that don’t make any sense and pranks that end up merely collapsing the stairs or something like that. It’s not bad, when you know to watch for it. And Boomerang—nobody can bring themselves to call him “George”—usually just rolls with it, playing along cheerfully. As long as he’s got Pinky the stuffed unicorn in his hand, _My Little Pony on TV_ , and something shiny to play with, Boomerang is set. Croc’s a quiet kind of guy, too: he spends his hours outside, swimming laps around the stagnant, unchlorinated backyard pool or sunning himself on the patio with a book in hand. Sometimes, Diablo sits with him; other times, he just sits quietly in his room. He doesn’t talk much, or listen to music, but he goes to Mass every Sunday. 

Come to think of Diablo, they’d all been stunned when he turned himself into a police station a week after Midway. He was still slightly scorched around the edges, but he’d just shrugged it off. “What? I control fire. You think a little bomb will kill me?” he asked. Rick just shook his head, made sure there was a nanite bomb in his neck, and sent Diablo to live at the house with the rest of the squad. 

Rick and June lived next door, still in the honeymoon phase of happy matrimony. June had technically been one of them, and they’d also technically tried to kill her. Rick was their handler and could kill them at any time, but he and June also went to church with Diablo every single week. It was a weird situation and it made Floyd’s head hurt to think too hard about it, so he just waved when he was out mowing the grass and Rick happened to be out at the same time too. 

Katana lived on the other side of the squad’s house. She lived alone, except that creepy-ass sword she carried around everywhere. She had a big garden instead of a yard, and she was usually outside working on it at the same time as Floyd was mowing. He’d wave to her, and she’d nod briefly, and bend her head again over her flowers. This was also weird. He tried not to think about this situation either.

And there was another weird thing. Suddenly, Floyd was the kind of guy who mowed the grass on Saturday morning. He was the kind of guy who had grass to mow, and a shiny new lawn mower, and the time to use it. He had friends who got in his way, dragging their lawn chairs out into the middle of the yard just to irritate him. This wasn’t something that Floyd was used to. If he thought about it too much, he’d start to wish that Zoe could be here too.

At some point, Harley got into the habit of bringing him lemonade when he got done. The first time, he’d squinted at her suspiciously. “You, uh, tryin’ to poison me?” he asked.

“Nah,” she said, and took a big gulp from the glass to prove it. “It’s hot, darlin’, and you should stay hydrated.”

And he’d taken the lemonade. Next Saturday, she’d wandered out again, this time with a glass of her own. They’d sat side by side on the patio, drinking lemonade and watching Croc swim laps around the pool to the sound of sprinklers running. He wasn’t sure what to think of it all. He didn’t know what to do with the fact that being near Harley made his heart do funny things and made him smile more than he had in years. It was quiet. It was _good_.

And here they were now. Two months after Midway. The middle of summer in suburbia. It was the evening of the fifteenth of July. They’d done some incredible fireworks on the 4th (courtesy of the squad’s collective and frankly horrifying knowledge of explosives and pyrokinetics), and even had a small party, but tonight was a quiet night. They were out back of the house, sitting on the patio around the firepit, listening to the cicadas scream and watching the fireflies come out. 

“Damn, Croc, you sure can cook,” Boomerang said, patting his stomach. “I’m still full!”

“’Course you are. You ate more than I did,” Croc rumbled from his chair. As usual, it creaked when he shifted, and Floyd wondered when in the hell that chair was just gonna give up the ghost.

Harley, cross-legged by the fire, snapped her gum thoughtfully. “For such a big guy, you really don’t eat very much,” she said. 

“I just don’t eat when you’re watching,” Croc said with great dignity. “It’s messy.”

“Thanks for sparing us,” Diablo muttered. He reached out and poked the fire with his bare hand, stoking it a little higher. 

Floyd shuddered. “Look, I know you don’t think that’s weird as shit, but man, stop shoving your hand into fires.”

“Why?” Diablo asked with a grin.

“’Cause it’s weird as shit!” Floyd said, throwing a pebble at Diablo. It smacked him on the ear and he yelped, scooting away across the patio. 

Harley cackled and tossed another pebble to Floyd. He caught it easily. “Betcha can’t hit him in the nose!” she said. 

“Don’t encourage him,” Boomerang said, putting his feet up on the edge of the firepit. “There’s a reason I don’t play darts with him anymore.”

“You’re one hell of a sore loser, Boomerang,” Floyd said. He bounced the pebble casually on his palm. “That was six weeks ago. Anyone wanna bet I can’t hit _him_ in the nose?”

“No bet,” Croc rumbled. 

“No way,” Diablo said. 

“Sure!” Harley said. She winked at him. “Anything you want, darlin’.”

Floyd raised his eyebrows. “Anything?” he asked. For a second, he had a few ideas, but shoved them aside. Nope. He wasn’t going to go there, not now, not ever. Harley was a teammate, not…that. Maybe he could convince her to actually do the dishes when it was her turn this week.

“Anything,” Harley said, the word dripping innocence. 

Boomerang held up his hands. “Hey, wait a minute—” he started. Floyd didn’t let him finish. He flicked his wrist and the pebble went flying—past Boomerang’s head and ricocheting off the doorframe and striking the wind chimes and falling down to pop lightly off his nose. It fell into his lap and stopped. 

Diablo clapped. “Nice shot!”

“You son of a bitch,” Boomerang said. He rolled his eyes and chucked the pebble back, missing Floyd by a mile. Well, it was two inches, but in Floyd’s world that was the same thing as a mile.

“I don’t know how you pulled off all those heists with an aim like that,” Floyd said. 

Boomerang rubbed his nose. “Look, just because I suck compared to you doesn’t mean I suck compared to _literally anybody else_.”

“He’s got a point,” Diablo said. He stretched and got to his feet. “Well, not to break up the party, but I’ve got early Mass tomorrow, so I’m gonna hit the hay.”

“Leave the basement stair light on, would ya?” Croc asked.

Diablo nodded. “Sure,” he said. He walked to the door, paused, glanced at Harley and it was easy to see that he looked nervous. “Uh, Harley?”

“Yeah?” Harley said, looking up at him.

“Thought you should know I’m going to Confession tomorrow,” Diablo said softly. “Gonna own my sins. It’s time.”

Harley smiled and hopped to her feet. She went to stand by him, stretched up on her tiptoes, and kissed him on the cheek. “Good for you, Big D,” she said quietly.

He looked confused, and in point of fact Floyd was too. “I thought you’d be mad,” Diablo said.

“Admitting that you feel guilty about something isn’t the same thing as refusing to own your actions,” Harley said. It was kinda surreal, hearing her sound like the psychologist she had once been instead of her usual loopy self. “And seeking forgiveness isn’t the same thing as pretending you never did it at all.”

“You serious?” Diablo glanced around at the rest of the squad, as if asking if they were all hearing the same thing.

“She’s serious, mate,” Boomerang said. 

“I am,” Harley said. She put her arms around the man and gave him a brief hug. “Own it.”

Diablo smiled. “Will do, Harley,” he said, and went inside. 

Harley watched after him for a minute, then turned around. Floyd was pretty openly staring, and so were Croc and Boomerang. She pouted when she saw their mildly stunned expressions. “What? Can’t a girl give somebody a hug without everyone acting like she’s lost her mind?”

“I’m not gonna touch that with a ten-foot pole.” Boomerang got up and flapped his fingers in a parody of a wave. “Pinky and I are gonna go read _The Last Unicorn_. Nighty-night!” And then he, too, was gone, still rubbing his nose as he went into the house.

Croc shook his head slowly. “He likes unicorns too much,” he said. 

“I like unicorns,” Harley muttered.

“He likes them way too much,” Croc said. 

“Say that again,” Floyd said with a wince. He’d walked into the living room the other day and Boomerang had been sitting on the computer playing some game called Pony Island. There were candy-colored unicorns frolicking in fields. It was weird and Floyd had just turned right around and walked the other way. It was one thing when Zoe bought shirts with unicorns on them and a whole other thing when a grown-ass man who robbed banks for fun did the same thing. 

Croc chuckled. “Think I’ll head down to the basement,” he said, rising to his feet. Floyd would have sworn that the chair actually sighed in relief when the big man stood up. 

“Night,” Floyd said. 

“Sweet dreams!” Harley said, flinging the words out like confetti. 

Croc just nodded and went in, heavy footsteps fading away into silence. The house and the neighborhood alike were quiet. Distantly, a dog barked, and then it too fell still. It was just Floyd and Harley, watching the dying fire. 

“What did she show you?” Harley asked suddenly, after several minutes of silence.

“Huh?” Floyd said eloquently. 

Harley cocked her head, curls skidding over her shoulders. “What did she show you? The Enchantress, I mean? What’d she put in your head?”

Floyd looked away, afterimages of fire turning the dark yard into a kaleidoscope. He didn’t know why she was bringing this up now. He didn’t want to talk about it. “I don’t remember,” he lied. 

“I remember,” Harley said, and something in her voice made him turn back to her. She was uncharacteristically somber, hugging her knees to her chest. It was a pose that should have made her look like a little girl, but instead made her look like a tired woman. 

Seemed like she wanted to talk about it, so Floyd asked, “What did you see?”

“A normal life,” Harley said with a little laugh. “Me and Mister J and our two cute-as-a-button kids, livin’ in a house full of sunlight and smiles.”

“Sounds nice,” Floyd said. Fleetingly, he thought of Zoe. 

Harley rested her chin on her knees. “It was,” she said. “But I’ve done some thinking and what I’m thinking now is that she lied.”

“That’s what Diablo said.” Floyd leaned back and watched her. 

“I mean, he’s dead,” Harley said, almost like she hadn’t heard him. “Which means we can’t have anything normal. But…we were never normal to start with, were we?”

Floyd didn’t answer. Harley had been right, back in that bar in Midway City. Normal was a setting on a dryer and nothing more. He’d certainly never been normal, and maybe she had, but she wasn’t now.

Harley looked up, eyes glittering with unshed tears. Floyd kind of wanted to go over there and give her a hug, but he couldn’t. The whole team knew he wasn’t one for hugs. “I know we weren’t,” she said. “I’d have done anything for my Puddin’. I jumped into a vat of acid for him once.”

“Holy shit, Harley,” Floyd said. If he hadn’t wanted to beat the Joker’s face in before, he did now.

“It’s crazy,” Harley said. She laughed weakly and swiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands, streaking her face with purple eyeshadow. “Crazy isn’t normal. Crazy isn’t happy.”

“You kidding me right now?” Floyd said, unable to hold back a comment. He pointed at the house, the yard, the neighborhood at large. “What do you think this is?”

Harley stared at him. “It’s…you telling me this is crazy?”

“It is crazy!” Floyd exclaimed. “We’re the worst criminals in America and we get to live in a house in some bad parody of suburbia? It’s fuckin’ crazy! And you’re sitting there telling me you aren’t happy?”

“I…” Harley looked lost. “No, I’m happy, but…this feels normal.”

Floyd pulls up short. Because that’s it, isn’t it? This is weird because it’s normal. Because there’s nothing crazy happening. It’s weird because it’s not.

“And it’s not how I imagined it,” Harley said, “because when I imagined it I was with my Puddin’, but now I’m with you, and…” She stopped.

“And what?” Floyd prompted after a few seconds passed. 

Harley smiled a crooked smile. “And I like it better with you,” she said. 

“Huh,” Floyd said. He thought his heart might have skipped a beat, but he ignored it. He tries to say something else, to move away from this crowning moment of weirdness. “Yeah, it’s nice having the team around—”

Harley got up, took two steps, and plopped down next to him. “I didn’t say I liked it better with the team, dummy,” she said. “I said I like it better with _you_.”

Floyd stared at her and thought briefly about running away. But he didn’t. He held still, as a sniper should, and remembered to breathe. “You, uh, you sure about that?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Harley said. She took his hands in hers and leaned in close, words brushing as lightly as feathers over his skin. “I’m sure.” 

He wasn’t sure what to do. He’d spent so damn long telling himself to stay away from her that he didn’t know what to do now that she was all up in his space. Harley, however, knew what to do. She tugged on his hands, pulling him forward so they met in the middle. Her lips were soft and tasted of strawberry candy. They bumped noses just a little and Harley giggled. Floyd’s head spun. He hadn’t seen this coming at all. 

“You’re a good kisser,” Harley said when they broke apart. 

“Thanks?” Floyd said. 

Harley squeezed his hands. “Don’t be so humble, darlin’.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m not lying.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Floyd couldn’t help asking. 

“Nah,” Harley said. She tossed her hair. “But who needs a plan? Plans are for normal people.”

Floyd grinned. “Sure,” he said. “Who needs a plan?”

So maybe it’s crazy. Maybe it’s downright stupid. Maybe it can never be normal. It’s not the life that Floyd ever imagined, and it’s not the life he ever wanted. But it’s his life, and it’s a good life.


End file.
